


Keep Calm and Call Coulson

by AnonEhouse



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Afterlife, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Happy Ending, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson doesn't take death lying down. He doesn't believe in it. Not even if you trap him in Limbo with a dragon.</p><p>Based on this <a href="http://i879.photobucket.com/albums/ab353/spook_me/Spook_Me%20Tarot%20Cards/252525D02525259F252525D12525258F252525D125252582252525D0252525B5252525D125252580252525D0252525BA252525D0252525B0252525202525_zps77ed37aa.jpg"> Photo prompt</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Calm and Call Coulson

**Author's Note:**

> I've not seen Agents of SHIELD, but did see one tiny, tiny clip of the pilot. About 2 minutes worth. I suspect you'll know the scenelet I saw once you reach the end of the fic.
> 
> While this was written for the Spook Me ficathon, the organizer graciously allows non-horror, so long as you use at least one of the prompts. This is fortunate for me, cuz I'm not a horror writer.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Long before he joined SHIELD Phil had... well, not _lost_ the capacity to be astonished, but trained himself not to allow it to affect his professional performance. So when he discovered that he was standing in the middle of a seemingly endless amber-colored plain with no evidence of himself having been stabbed by a huge, badly balanced, and seriously gaudy Asgardian halberd (or whatever, he was rusty on his medieval weapons I.D. he'd have to remember to rectify that) the first thing he did was turn completely around to assess the potential threats. Nothing. Not so much as a bird in the sky, or an insect on the ground. The land was as smooth as fused glass. He briefly considered the possibility he was at ground zero of a nuclear holocaust and dismissed it because if true there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Next was to take stock of his assets and options. He was wearing a neatly pressed Dolce and Gabbana suit, with all his usual accessories. He checked his earbud. "Director? Director Fury? Agent Hill?" 

Nothing. "Well, this is inconvenient." There were no landmarks, and the light seemed sourceless. He started walking, well aware of his tendency to gradually circle left, but having no sensible way to compensate for it. It wasn't as if he had a goal in mind, but walking gave him the illusion of purpose.

He checked his watch, but although it ticked reassuringly, the time didn't change. He also didn't get hungry or thirsty, or tired. "I must say, this isn't at all what I expected," he said after an interminable while. "I'm assuming that I didn't die, because, no offense intended, I don't actually believe in an afterlife. So what I'm looking at is more likely the product of brain-damage due to hypovolemic shock. Hallucination. Altered state. Is it possible to dream in a coma? Granted, this isn't much of a dream."

He kept walking. "Considering the extent of my injury, keeping me alive would require a substantial investment of resources. It's unlikely that would be available if Loki had succeeded in his plan for global domination. Therefore, the Avengers have won."

"Have they?" came a voice, deep, metallic, and resonant, as if a bronze bell could speak.

Phil paused. Directly in front of him was... well, really, he had to call it a dragon. It was a scaly reptile in assorted shades of plum and lavender and it had leathery bat wings gilded by amber reflections on their undersides. There were entirely unnecessary spikes running down its armored back. White smoke curled from its nostrils and its eyes glowed yellow with ripples of black, like slow-flowing lava. He wasn't convinced as to the aerodynamics of it. The head alone was longer than Lola. He missed his flying car; this journey would be much less boring if he had her. 

His imagination should have done better. But then, coma, brain-injury, he could give himself a little leeway. "Good afternoon," he said politely. "Excuse me, but you're blocking my path."

The dragon tilted its head sideways, looking at him from one eye. The shift gave him a view of the dragon's left front ... paw? foot?, no, he'd have to call it a hand, despite the four-footed stance, because the digits were proportionally long and slender, well suited to the enormous emerald ring on what would be the index finger of a human. It was a nice touch, giving the creature a sign of civilization. "There are no paths for the dead," the dragon said. 

"I'm not dead," Phil replied firmly. "I'm Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD, and I can't afford the luxury of being dead."

The dragon made smoke rings when it chuckled. "Ah. You have strong will. That's why you are still on this plane." It made a sort of rumbling, humming noise. "When we forget, we fade. I don't know where people go then." The dragon sounded wistful. "It might be nice to rest, but I cannot forget. I cannot forget or forgive Loki."

"Loki?" Phil stopped trying to think of ways to incapacitate the dragon. "Deranged Asgardian with daddy issues? Long hair, short temper?"

The dragon blinked. "Ah. Of course, you had mentioned Loki. Did he kill you, too? That might explain our meeting. A mutual murderer is a strong affinity."

"I..." Phil paused. "I don't know. He certainly made a good attempt at it."

"How?" The dragon lay down flat, forelegs outstretched and head resting on them. "I'll trade you my story for yours. We can hate Loki together."

"I don't hate him," Phil said. "Hate clouds the mind. I just wanted to protect my world from him." Past tense. Phil would have to watch that. 

"These Avengers you spoke of-- are they your clan? Will they avenge your death by killing him?" More smoke rose. "I should like to see that. Perhaps he would come here." The dragon grinned. Its teeth were very long, very sharp, and glowed with heat.

Phil smiled slightly. "They might. Director Fury told me he thought they needed a push, something bigger than their petty differences. Thor saw me die... well, he saw me attacked, stabbed in the back... that should counteract any lingering feelings of familial affection. Well... to an extent."

The dragon huffed. "Yes, Loki was always a backstabber. He killed my brother who had taken on otter form for his amusement, and then proudly showed off his hide. We would have accepted weregild, but Loki paid in cursed gold." The dragon's eyes went cloudy. "Go on with your tale, mine is old and covered with dust. I would hear what Loki does these days."

"Loki had big plans. He'd made an alliance with some beings Thor named the Chitauri, who gave him a weapon that enabled him to control minds."

"His tongue was always enough for that. His words made me kill Hreidmar for possession of the cursed gold. Greed and father-murder combined to make a dragon."

"So, you weren't always as you are now?" Phil asked politely. He wasn't tired, but he was bored with peering up into the dragon's face so he sat down on one of its forelegs and leaned against a scaled shoulder which was pleasantly warm.

"Indeed not! I am Fafnir, who was once a dwarf of some renown. I guarded my father's storehouse, with all its gold and gems. I was the foremost of my three brothers. I was strong, and proud and..." The dragon sighed. "And foolish. My surviving brother sent his foster-son to slay me and take all the gold. What good had it done me? Even while I lived, it sat in a cave where it delighted no other eyes, and brought me no admiration. We should have slain Loki instead of demanding weregild."

"Hindsight is a wonderful thing," Phil said agreeably. "It would certainly have saved me a great deal of trouble."

Fafnir flapped his wings, one long, slow beat that made the air smell like sulfur. "I have not this hindsight, but I have learned farsight in my endless wanderings on this plane. Tell me of your Avengers, make them known to me so I can see them."

"Ah. Like Heimdall? Thor had spoken of him."

"The Watcher of Asgard sees all. I see only what I know, and I have forgot so much." Fafnir's eyes glittered. "I remember gold best of all." He touched his nose to his ring. "Andavaranaut keeps gold ever before my eyes." He bent his paw-hand so the ring's gem touched the ground, which glittered gold.

Phil looked at the ring and then around at the vast plain which he now realized was gold, not amber. "Transmutation of elements," Phil said with satisfaction. "I must have incorporated that part of the dream from Stark. And the gold, of course, from his armor."

"A warrior named Stark, in golden armor? Yes. That I can see." Fafnir's eye blinked slowly and when the lid rose, instead of the gold and black eye, Phil was looking at the helicarrier's underdeck. There was a gaping hole. Iron Man and Captain America were in full costume, and Phil didn't even deny to himself how it made his breath catch to see them, to see heroes brought to life. There was no sound, but the action spoke for itself. 

It was frustrating, watching and unable to do anything. But _was_ he unable? "You have wings, Fafnir. Can you fly?"

"Of course I can, Phil." Fafnir said with a touch of indignation. 

"Have you tried flying away from here?"

"I..." Fafnir huffed smoke. "That is strange. No, I have not. I had... I could not leave my gold. It is all I have. Without it, I am nothing."

"Oh, come now, a great big dragon like you is hardly nothing."

"I... do not believe strongly enough. Do you believe in me?"

Phil patted Fafnir on the snout. He was still watching the battle. Dear God, the Avengers were amazing, but there were only six of them against an army. Clint... Clint was fighting alongside Natasha. He should be there, too, damn it. He'd fought for the Avengers, he'd turned Clint and Natasha from the dark side, he'd watched Thor break down, he'd seen Stark's self-destructiveness, he'd tracked down Banner in his self-imposed isolation and he'd even designed Captain America's uniform in an effort to give the man something to remind him that he was still valued, not a relic of the past. The Avengers were _his_ , broken and dysfunctional as they were, and they needed help. What the hell was Fury doing? The helicarrier was damaged, yes, but surely SHIELD could do something.

"I believe in heroes," he told the dragon.

"I am no hero," Fafnir replied. "If I were, I should be in a better place. Perhaps even in Valhalla."

"You could be a hero. Anyone can." Phil didn't care if he was dying, or insane, he wasn't going to sit here and watch his heroes fight his battle without him. "I believe in you."

Fafnir's head slowly rose. "Would you trust me? Would you battle at my side; father-slayer and monster as I am?"

"Yes," Phil replied without hesitation. "I would."

"You cannot go to war without armor or weapons."

Phil shrugged. "I'll make do." He had his gun and a taser; somehow he didn't think that was going to impress the Chitauri. "I'll pick something up along the way."

"Wait. I will..." Fafnir swayed from side to side, like a nervous elephant. "I could give you the sword Ridill, the helm of terror, and a golden coat of chainmail."

"That sounds as though they would be helpful." He wasn't going to laugh, but 'helm of terror'? Really.

"They are cursed. All who possess them, die." Fafnir cocked his head. "If you are not yet dead, they will surely kill you."

Phil smiled. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that. We're going up against an army; dying is part of the game."

"As you would have it. Let it be so."

Weight settled on Phil; on his head, over his body, and in his hand. He looked down at the gleaming sword he held and the coat of gold rings that reached half way down his thighs. "Thank you."

The dragon lowered his head, stretching his neck out along the ground. "I grant you leave to cut off one of my spines, that you may ride. Take care. Ridill is sharper than Loki's tongue."

Phil looked closer at the sword. The edge was so keen it shimmered. He considered the fantasy test of dropping a hair on it to be cut by its own weight, but he decided he'd rather keep the hair. He carefully sliced off a spine at the base of the dragon's neck and then settled astride, holding the sword well away from Fafnir's wings. The sword was not only sharp, but light. He wondered briefly if this was how Mjolnir felt in Thor's hand. "Let's go." Muscle shifted, and the great ribcage expanded, and then the dragon leapt into the sky, wings coming down with a crash like thunder at the apex of his leap. "YES!" Phil shouted, and pointed the sword in the direction he felt was right. It was his dream, why shouldn't it be right?

***

They appeared over mid-town Manhattan, and at first Phil didn't think anything of the fact that no one reacted to the sudden appearance of a purple dragon being ridden by an agent in golden chain mail, swinging a glowing sword. After all, the sky was full of really ugly giant armored gray...eels? call them eels for the sake of simplicity, discharging loads of equally ugly, gray armored bipeds with faces like rabbit skulls. He'd never think of the Easter Bunny in the same way again. Well, with that for distraction, most of the people who weren't concentrating on looking down as they scrambled over the rubble that had been a fairly recent road resurfacing job (Phil could see he'd have to plan new routes to reach his favorite doughnut shop.)... well, anyone who _was_ looking up, was watching the aliens, and the two flight-capable avengers.

Phil smelled gasoline everywhere from overturned vehicles. From the extent of the damage to buildings it was likely some natural gas lines had been broken as well. "Don't use fire!" he warned Fafnir as he skewered a Chitauri. 

"As you wish," the dragon replied before banking and heading for one of the eels. "They shall feel my claws and fangs instead." He landed on the back of the eel. It was at least three times Fafnir's size, but still Phil was surprised that the added weight didn't seem to inconvenience it. Fafnir ripped away layers of armor, and gouged great slashes in the underlying flesh. It smelled a lot worse than gasoline. Like a bait bucket at the end of a long summer's day. Phil leaned down and fended off the warriors who tried to defend their steed. It was absurdly easy; they seemed to strike at random... as if they didn't see him or Fafnir.

"Are they blind?" he shouted when one leaped onto Ridill. He kicked the dying Chitauri off and slashed a few more. He didn't trust things that were too easy.

Fafnir crunched down on something that made the eel convulse. He flapped hard and rose above the falling creature. "We cast no shadow, make no reflection." He rolled one glittering gold eye back at Phil. "Have you no tales of the unseen, malevolent dead?"

Phil took in the information. "We're poltergeists?" He pointed up into the vortex with Ridill. "Let's lend Thor a hand." 

"I dislike that," Fafnir grumbled, but he beat his wings harder and rose. "Loki is his brother."

"Adoptive!" Phil grinned and gripped harder onto the dragon's neck. "And remember, heroes are selfless! We're fighting to protect the defenseless, not to get revenge."

"Agreed." Fafnir neared the vortex. "But if I can get my teeth into Loki while I protect others, may I not enjoy it?"

"Sure!" Phil clung to Fafnir's spines as they entered the vortex and the forces buffered him. "Thou shalt not bind the mouths of the dragons that rend the Chitauri!"

When they emerged into space, and the lack of air failed to inconvenience him Phil wondered why that bothered him more than riding on an cross-dimensional traveling dragon. If he could imagine the one in a delirium, why not the other? But breathing... he'd never had to think about that in dreams, it just always was. They came across a fully-laden eel and he was grateful to be able to concentrate on that. "You can use your flame here, Fafnir," he said once they'd finished off their current victim and were heading for another.

"I have tried, but it will not burn." Fafnir picked up a floating dead Chitauri and threw it into the face of an oncoming eel.

"No oxygen in space!" That was disconcertingly consistent. Phil was accustomed to his dreams not only defying common sense, and natural laws of time and space, but also lacking internal consistency. A dream shouldn't be this linear. But he couldn't spare the time to worry about it. Apparently the only thing stopping the Chitauri from flooding the earth was the bottleneck imposed by the vortex. No matter what he and Fafnir did, they couldn't stop all of them.

He had the feeling that they were losing, and from the look Fafnir gave him, the dragon sensed it as well. And more... "I can see the stars," he said.

"So can I, Phil." Fafnir's motions were more methodical now, having given up on style in exchange for efficiency, as if they were workers in a giant eel rendering plant.

"I mean, I can see them through you." Phil drove the sword in deep into the eel's spine. The sword was a gleaming blade of gold, but his arm below the mail shirt was translucent smoke. "I can see through myself."

Fafnir was silent a moment. "You have begun to doubt."

"I'm afraid so." He patted Fafnir's neck. "And you have forgot to think only of yourself."

"Ah. So we end. But it is a good ending. And I am glad to have fought with you. Am I a hero?" Fafnir sounded wistful.

"Fafnir, in my book, you're a damn big hero." Coulson saluted him with the sword and then turned the salute into a gesture as Iron Man went past, with an atomic missile balanced on his back. "What? Follow him!"

By the time they got past the muddle of eel-parts surrounding them, Iron Man was no longer guiding the missile, but by inertia it was continuing on course toward the Chitauri mothership. So was Iron Man. Coulson leaned over Fafnir's shoulder, grabbed Iron Man by the shoulders and pushed him back towards the vortex. There was a flash of light and then...

Fafnir landed hard, belly down and wings spread, on a grass covered hillside. Huge white horses stood around them. The horses had wings. The horses had riders, tall, strong, stern women dressed in armor and carrying various weapons with an air of calm competence. One of the women leaned down and grabbed Coulson's arm, dragging him up and over the saddle before her. He tried to protest, but she laid one hand in the small of his back and he went limp.

Fafnir staggered to his feet. "Phil! The valkyries come for you! Remember me in Valhalla!"

Phil managed to lift his head. Fafnir was still fading, no more than the faintest soap-bubble impression of a dragon shape. "Take him, too," he said. "He's been a hero."

"We were sent to bring back only one."

"That's... not fair." Phil pushed against the horse's shoulder, raising enough to meet the cool gray eyes of the woman holding him. "Take Fafnir instead of me, then. It's his dream, not mine."

The valkyrie stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded. She stretched out her sword and cut through the dragon-bubble's neck. Before Phil could shout, the bubble burst and in it's place was a man, burly and bearded. He was rather short, and had shifting gold and black eyes. The valkyrie said, "Fafnir, you may not bring Andvaranaut with you."

The dwarf tore the emerald ring from his hand, and removed all the gold and armor he wore, leaving himself clad in roughspun linen and leather. "I need no gold. I am Fafnir once more." Another valkyrie took Fafnir up on her horse before her. 

Phil expected to be dumped back on the grass to finish fading away, but instead all the horses, including the one carrying him, began running, with each stride faster than the last until he could see nothing but a multicolored blur, and hear nothing except the heavy breathing of the horse and the creak and clank of the leather and metal harness. The hand in the middle of his back stayed there, keeping him firmly in place. 

After an unknown length of time, if time had any meaning at all under the circumstances, the horse's gait slowed, gradually, until Phil saw ocean waves beneath the hooves, changing color as the water grew more shallow, until finally the horse was cantering across a black sand beach. The valkyrie shoved him, and Phil tumbled off and into the sand. He was...he was solid, and he hurt, oh, how he hurt. He looked down at the blood caking his suit and then up again, with an effort, to see a man who was dressed in red feathers, and standing on the back of a gigantic turtle. The valkyrie said, "Others have spoken for you, warrior. Your time on Midgard is not yet done." 

Phil heard the horse cantering away, but the world was narrowing down to a thin corridor. The man on the turtle waved a hand, imperiously. Another man came into Coulson's limited range of vision, and propped him up against his knee to drink from a coconut shell. It tasted... like foam and wine and... with each gulp the pain receded. By the time the coconut was empty, Phil was totally blitzed and perfectly happy. "Hell of a dream," he said. 

The red-feathered man replied, "Sleep, my prince. The time for dreams is over. Remember nothing." He smiled at the red feathered man, and fell asleep.

***

There were birds, and there was the shhussh shuusssh sound of waves lapping gently on a sandy beach. Then there was the sound of footsteps crunching in the sand, approaching hesitantly from the sound of it. Phil opened his eyes and blinked. He was lying flat on his back, in one of his good suits, on a beach made of black sand. Luxuriant tropical foliage encroached on the beach, with brightly colored birds flitting among the green shadows. He sat up and turned in the direction of the footsteps, assessing the young man approaching. There was an obvious expression of relief on his face.

"Sir, do you feel quite well?" the young man asked politely. Phil liked the look of him; he had close-cropped hair, and wore a neat white button up, cream colored trousers and soft-looking white shoes. The black sand showed up on them very clearly, but everything else was spotless. It was obvious this was a competent professional, even if it wasn't entirely obvious what his profession was.

"Oh, yes," Phil replied. He had no idea what had happened to him. The last he remembered was... something to do with the helicarrier, and the Avenger Initiative. He'd have to contact SHIELD and tell the Director he might be compromised. "Er... I may have celebrated a bit too much last night. I don't know where I am."

The man frowned slightly. "Are you a guest of the hotel, sir?"

"Guest?" Phil said vaguely, squinting into the rising sun and pretending to be hung over. He actually felt great. Whatever had happened to him at least hadn't damaged him physically. He'd strip later and look for any external signs of drugging, although any remotely sophisticated organization would have methods that left no traces. "I suppose so..." He found his wallet and was pleased to discover all his credit cards intact. He sorted out the most impressive no-limit one and showed it to the man. "Or at least I can be."

The man glanced at the card and smiled broadly. "Indeed, of course you can, Mr. Coulson. The a la carte and buffet breakfast will soon be served in our restaurant. Would you care to check in now and freshen up?"

"Yes, thank you." Phil stood up and brushed some of the sand off his suit, making a mental note to be certain not to take any of it with him. He had a vague feeling Pele wouldn't like that... but... who was Pele? He shrugged mentally and smiled at the young man. "I appear to have lost my luggage, so check in won't take very long. Have you wifi?"

"Of course, sir, our Business Centre is fully up-to-date."

Phil could hear the capital letters and the pride the man took in his place of work. Well, that was something they had in common. As he moved closer he read the embroidered patch on the man's shirt pocket. Radisson Plaza Tahiti Resort. "Tahiti is a magical place," he said. Even if he'd been kidnapped and brainwashed, whoever had done it had been kind enough to give him the first holiday he'd had in years. Budapest didn't count.

**Author's Note:**

> At the end, Coulson encounters two of the gods of Tahiti, Oro and Tane. Pele is mentioned, but doesn't appear in the fic.
> 
> Oro is the son of Ta'aroa, the creator of the universe, and is as powerful as his father. He's the god of war, but also keeper of wisdom, revealer of secrets. He's the protector of the 'arioi, human princes. 
> 
> Tane possessed the power of mana, and kept the gods' water, the water of immortality. 
> 
> Pele is a fire goddess with a bad temper. Urban myths have her punishing people with bad luck for taking black sand or lava rocks from Tahiti. These myths are of recent origin and are not traditional.


End file.
